


Play Me Like A Violin

by acuteroses



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A little bit of angst, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo Sings, Fluff, Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Pining, Thorin Oakenshield Lives, Violinist Bilbo Baggins, Violins, and also to get out his feelings concerning thorin, belladonna took is mentioned, bilbo has a good relationship with his mum, bilbo plays the violin to relieve stress, frodo is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 00:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18063173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acuteroses/pseuds/acuteroses
Summary: "Play me 'till the sun risesPlay me 'till your hands give inPlay me like a violinPlay me 'till the sun risesPlay me 'till you can't hide itPlay me like a violin"Bilbo plays the violin, and Thorin watches.





	Play Me Like A Violin

**Author's Note:**

> Song - "Play Me Like A Violin - Stephen"

It was a Baggins family tradition that when each fauntling was young, they would be taught some form of musical instrument by their parents. For many, they settled for something simple, such as a lute or clarinet, an instrument with a soft lilting tune that could be very easily taught and very easily put to use for several different occasions. Others, such as Bilbo's cousin Drogo, learned several, such as the harp and piano (one of the very few that were held in the shire) and he held no doubt in his heart that these skills would be passed very eagerly onto his son, Frodo, who could barely keep his hands off them as it is. However, the most peculiar instrument that had graced his family tree was one not often found within the shire, and was one that Bilbo's mother Belladonna Took had introduced to the family after procuring it on one of her many childhood adventures.

It was a violin.

Or at least that's what his mother had called it. It was more commonly known as a fiddle to many folk, but the race of men had recently coined a new term for it, and she believed it fit the stringed instrument rather nicely. Belladonna had brought the instrument to Bilbo when he was very young, perhaps no more than seven or eight, and had sat down with him near every night for years until he could play the instrument blindfolded. The music of the violin became like a second language to Bilbo, and coupled with his naturally graceful singing voice, Bilbo very quickly became one of the shires greatest musical instrument enthusiasts. His father Bungo taught him both the lute and the piano, and he knew enough about the harp to get about rather nicely.

His mother praised him excessively for his playing, and after her death the hauntingly soft melodies of the strings became a great comfort for the young hobbit. Most nights Bilbo would spend by the dying embers of the fire, stood stationary beside an empty arm chair as he dragged the bow across the strings of the instrument until the tune chased away his lingering grief.

However, after the intrusion of thirteen dwarves and a wizard, Bilbo barely had time to play his instrument as he was dragged across country on his daring adventure. Everywhere he walked, the fiddle was comfortably nestled away in his backpack, and his fingers often itched to pluck the strings. He doubted the dwarves in the company even knew he could play any instruments or that his voice could do more than carry a simple tune, as humming as he walked was a commonplace on the journey. Dwarves were rather bawdy in their entertainment, drunken songs in well lit taverns as they celebrated victories in battle, but Bilbo also knew the softness of some dwarven songs, and had on many times asked Bofur to teach him their ballads.

The Battle of the Five Armies had destroyed not only Bilbo, but the entire company. Sheer dumb luck and chance had pulled them all through the fire and no one left unscathed. The sons of Durin were the most affected by the war - Fili and Kili had been stabbed and shot and were bloody beyond compare, both of them barely escaping the fight with both their wits and their lives, eyes blown wide as they stumbled from the battlefield, arms supporting each other as they struggled to walk and dirty rags wrapped around their wounds. Thorin Oakenshield had not been so lucky. The King Under The Mountain had taken many blows to his body during the fray, a few which could have very easily been fateful, but by some Gods grace the King had managed to hold onto his breath.

Grief had never consumed Bilbo so easily, not since the death of his mother. In the days when Thorin's recovery seemed impossible, he would not eat, drink or sleep. His shaking hands had wrapped around Thorin's cold one, refusing to release it until he was forcibly dragged away by his healers, streaks of silent tears making themselves known against the dirt of his cheeks. He was inconsolable, anxiety and fear never parting with his mind until Bofur announced to him that the King had finally awoken.

Bilbo was quite sure his smile had never been brighter.

In the weeks that followed, the winds of winter had kept him confined to the walls of Erebor, putting off his journey back to the Shire until spring arrived. It was in this period of time that Bilbo first touched his violin again. During the reclaiming and rebuilding of Erebor, Bilbo had been given his own small suite within the stronghold, but most of the company found him collecting old tombs and scripts from whatever remained of the library as he planned to translate them and bring them back to the Shire when he finally departed.

However, Bilbo had never been able to rid his mind of images of King Thorin - alone and bloody and barely breathing. He lay as stiff as a stone, a disgusting mixture of dirt and gore lashed into his once perfect ebony hair, braids matted and torn. For most of the journey back to the lonely mountain, Bilbo had failed to understand Thorin. They saw each other not as equals, but as annoyances, simple obstacles to overcome in order to find their way back home after the journey was done. They were a "Good riddance!" at best. In spite of this initial bump in their relationship however, Bilbo had begun to admire Thorin, as a King, a leader, a friend ... perhaps more.

Nothing had shocked Bilbo more than the dawning realisation of his own emotions. Desperate to feel anything but, he had pushed them down for the duration of their journey, and worked on simply getting Thorin to respect him rather than love him. Quite luckily for Bilbo, it seemed to have worked, as after the hobbit had emerged from the goblin tunnels and saved the dwarven King from the pale orc, their friendship grew as fast and as furiously as wildfire. Even through the hardships of Thorin's sickness and Bilbo's betrayal, Thorin still fought to protect him, and Bilbo never left his side.

It was for this reason Bilbo finally found himself drifting back to the violin still stored secretly away in his pack. He had thought about it once before when Thorin lay injured, his mind traitorously wondering to what music he would perform at Thorin's funeral, if he could even bare to be there at all, but now he gravitated to the instrument for a completely different reason.

Bilbo found himself sighing in relief when he found it has not been damaged after he had removed it from his bag, for he was quite sure he'd have a heart attack if he found his mothers fiddle broken due to his own careless nature. Giving the strings a quick tighten, he strode out onto the balcony attached to his room, although they were closer to battlements than anything else. He placed the violin in its place against his neck, and exhaled deeply, wetting his lips with his tongue as he drew in another sharp breath.

Ever so slowly, he began to draw the bow back and forth across the strings of the instrument, eyes following the quick movements of his fingers to ensure the melody was correct. Once he was sure the notes he produced were correct, he let his eyes fall close as he began to sway side to side, pulled by both the guiding of his arm which held the bow and the music he produced. It was not a song he had played very often back in the Shire and had learnt it completely by ear, listening to his mother play to his father on cold winters nights. It began rather melancholic, as if he was telling a tale of two lost souls cursed to be apart, but it did not bring him any sadness, as he knew they would find each other by the chorus. As he played, Bilbo began to allow softly sung words to slip from his lips. He sung of a King, a King that meant so very much to him, and one day he hoped he could be lucky enough to share this with him.

_"Play me 'till the sun rises_   
_Play me 'till your hands give in_   
_Play me like a violin_   
_Play me 'till the sun rises_   
_Play me 'till you can't hide it_   
_Play me like a violin"_

Bilbo's body moved freely with the music now, twirling and spinning as the tune picked up into a lighthearted yet rather rowdy refrain. The more he spun and danced in time with his own music, the more laughter slipped into his singing, barely able to keep up as his speech devolved into a muddled mess of words and giggles. It had been so long since he had played the violin, and it felt incredibly liberating to do so. When he was first learning the instrument, many hobbits had chastised his mother and father for teaching him such a nontraditional instrument, being the overly orthodox folk they were. However, spite seemed to be a driving force in Bilbo's life, as it only made him want to learn more, much like spite forced him out the door of his home and onto this adventure.

As the song came to a sweet close and the two lost souls were finally reunited, Bilbo stopped his dancing to open his eyes and take a deep breath or two. However, what he saw in front of him made him want to cease breathing entirely. Thorin Oakenshield, the King under the Mountain had snuck his way onto the battlements as Bilbo had been playing and singing and seemed to have been watching him do so the entire time he had been out here. Now Bilbo was not only flushed due to his dancing, but heaps of embarrassment as well.

After opening and closing his mouth several times like a fish, searching for any excuse he could find as to why he was dancing and singing like a madman upon Erebor's battlements, Bilbo finally spoke. "What are you doing out here?" he cried, pointing the violin bow at Thorin as threateningly as possible. The King simply smiled.

"You have a wonderful singing voice, Master Baggins, and quite the talent with the violin as well," Thorin spoke, using a hand to knock away the violin bow that Bilbo was holding.

Well, Bilbo fell rather speechless. He had never expected anyone to hear him out here, never mind the person he was singing about to do so. Bilbo couldn't quite describe his emotions as they all thrashed around inside his brain, which was quickly turning to mush the longer he remained under Thorin's indecipherable gaze.

"Thank you," was all Bilbo could say, violin and bow held limply by his sides, "My mother taught me how to play when he was younger."

"She must be a wonderful player herself then, if she could teach you to perform a piece as complex as that."

"Yes, she was very wonderful," Bilbo sighed wistfully, and Thorin's gaze softened slightly, as if to express his remorse.

"Can you play much else?" he asked.

"I can. I'm the best violin player in the Shire, well, I'm the only violin player in the Shire as far as I'm aware of, but I'd like to think that if there was another violin player, I'd still be the best."

Thorin chuckled, and Bilbo snickered along with him. It was rare he got to see the King laugh, and he took great pleasure in seeing him do so. Thorin was rarely ever soft around anyone but his own kin, not even the company, for expressing emotions after many long years of being told to do anything but was rather difficult, and Bilbo understands. Just as he had to be strong for his mother after the death of his father, Thorin had to be strong for his people after the loss of their Kingdom, and Thorin had never quite gotten used to being allowed to relax, even now. Even after the reclamation of Erebor, even after his near-death at the hands of the pale orc, he rarely slowed down, constantly rushing around fixing and signing and delegating and sometimes it took Bilbo all the self control he held inside of him not to force the King into a bed and make him rest.

Bilbo knew that, if Thorin asked it of him, he would drop it all to stay by his side, and the fact that he did not know that Thorin would do the same for him scared him to death.

"Could you perform for me, if I sung?" Thorin's voice brought Bilbo back to the battlements, and Bilbo couldn't do anything more than nod, and raise the fiddle back to its place in his neck. Exhaling slowly, he began to drag the bow across the strings once again as Thorin's deep voice ricocheted off the stone around them, the words to "Misty Mountain Cold" filling the soft midnight air.

Bilbo did not know how long they continued on for until they stopped, switching from ballads to bar songs, lullabies to wordless classics, both the dwarves and the hobbits voices ringing clear throughout the night as they sung in tune together. It was only when Bilbo's fingers grew cold and stiff that they retired inside, Thorin gently carrying the violin back to Bilbo's chambers while the hobbit himself nestled his fingers close to his chest, blowing warm air on them in an attempt to bring back the feeling that had been lost.

After setting the violin back into Bilbo's pack, Thorin turned to look at the small hobbit, who was currently rubbing his hands together to create some warmth within them. During their journey, it had been proved to Thorin over and over again that hobbits were particularly wonderful creatures, always able to surprise and create wonder within him. Why, Thorin thought, if all hobbits happened to be like Bilbo Baggins, then they were indeed a race deserving of his utmost respect, and the utmost respect of all dwarves and other races of middle earth. It was because of Bilbo that Thorin and the company had had their home returned to them, that Thorin was free of his sickness, that Thorin was alive to see this day at all.

Leaning forwards slightly, Thorin reached out and took the hands of a slightly confused Bilbo Baggins in his own. Bilbo flushed deeply as, in one swift movement, Thorin brought one of his hands up to his mouth and placed a light kiss to the back of it, smiling ever so slightly as he did so.

"Goodnight Master Baggins, it's been a pleasure."

"G ... Goodnight Thorin, I hope you sleep well."

"As do I, Ghivashel."


End file.
